Life After The Fight
by ireallyfancypirates
Summary: slash, HPDM. Voldemort is defeated, but there are casualties. Harry is left pondering the his future and the future of his loved ones. But will he have to fight against Ron & the 'Wizard Crusade? Why is Draco helping him?


Disclaimer: Not mine, wish it was, but it isn't...unless...no. What if...aw, no. Guess its not. (But, um, Ms. Rowling, if your reading this, there is a very gracious girl in Australia who would happily accept Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy (or both, that could be fun) as some wonderful gifts!) 

Warning: This fic contains (or will contain) violence, character death, vulgor language, and will contain slash later on, but other pairings might come up in a later chapter (I know at some point there will be a HPDM thing!).

A/N: I am planing a long life for this fic, I am actually really happy with where it's going, for once. If I am going to continue it, I need to know your not all currently phoning your local hired goons and informing them of my current location (I am at home on, the computer, and searching for the cup of tea I misplaced a while ago- damn, its probably cold), of course. So review, so I know at least SOME of you aren't carrying flaming pitchforks (can you even have 'flaming pitchforks'? never mind)!

* * *

Harry sat under his tree, the one he always visited when the grief returned. To be quite fair it wasn't his tree, it was Draco's tree, it was Draco's field, hell, it was Draco's whole fucking Manor! The worst part of it all, was knowing he was free to leave. He was free to leave and he chose to stay. Still, the Malfoys were the only ones to take him in, after the 'good side' had won. Well not all the Malfoys, Narcissa and Lucius had died in the war, so I suppose it was only the one Malfoy that took him in. For the most part of his wizard life he had despised Draco Malfoy, and to think now, he was one of the only ones left fighting for good. To think how life had changed in the last year.

Harry still couldn't believe the last seven years had been a lie. To bond with the people he had considered his friends, his family even, for six years, and then to just be thrust away after his duty to the wizarding world had been performed. 'Hah! Griffindor loyalty in action!' Harry thought. Of course it hadn't happened straight away, that would have been "below them". A 'private' meeting here, a forgotten birthday there. Soon the floos, and the letters, they stopped coming. Not surprising really, considering what those private meetings were about. Oh yes, Hermione and Ron, leaders of the 'Wizard Crusade'. A small part of him pitied them really, until of course he felt that pang of what he considered a odd mix of grief and bitterness. The last of the Marauders had died, and from a Griffindor's wand too. To think that Harry had trusted them for so long, that Remus had trusted them, and they turned their backs. Worse, they waited until Remus' was turned then cursed him into oblivion.

---Flashback---

"Why?", Harry had asked them, jaw clenched . "Why Remus? You helped him, nursed him after the war. You. brewed his fucking wolfsbane for chrisake! Then you advera kadavera him at your earliest opportunity."

"Harry, calm down! Your getting upset over that dirty werewolf? Do you remember what Fenir Greyback did to Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall last year? They never bloody recovered the...the..." Hermione sobbed. "no Harry. Mourn for McGonagall. Mourn for Sirius. But don't you dare tell me you are upset about the death of that bastard."

"Bastard? Are you forgetting who took out the three most active Deatheaters this summer? Well, no, I doubt you'd rembemer, you weren't even there were you, Herm? Shacked up snugly with the inlaws at the burrow, weren't you?"

"I-- We-- Ms. Weasly made us" she stammered.

"I. We...come on Hermione, your bloody 19, and bloody married! That old Weasly excuse might've worked in 4th year, but it won't cut it now! Do you want to know the best part of all this shit you've cooked up for yourself? Do you?" he leaned in and whispered in her ear "Once you become a murderer, you stay a murderer. For all of eternity, Hermione. For all of eternity."

--- ---

"Harry! Harry, are you okay?" Harry snapped out of his mental stupor.

"Blaise, what the hell is wrong? Its not..." he stammered, struggling to get up.

"God, no you were just sitting there, so still, I thought...you had...be-"

"Oh. I'm fine, don't worry about me, do you need help up the stairs?"

"I came out here to sunbathe for a while." Replied Blaise, examining his cuticles. "And Potter, my leg may be buggered, but I do NOT need the help of a Griffindor" Harry chuckled.

"Slytherin pride all the way, eh Blaise?"

"Something like that"

Harry had always liked Blaise, he was one of the good ones. Despite being a Slytherin, he couldn't hurt a fly, couldn't even hurt a Deatheater, Harry thought back to the war, when Blaise could only work strategies, to pure of heart to fight, though he always pulled the "it's below me" line, never with any real meaning, though. It wasn't fair what happened to him, not at all. Harry should have been able to help him.

---Flashback---

Harry heard the the uproar. He had always known the day would come, but he had not expected it to happen so soon. So soon after the last attack too, yet he was not able to do anything. Dumbledore had made him promise not to leave his room, for he was needed 'for the final battle'. Harry sat there, listening to the screams of the students. He made out one voice, pleading, on the other side of the door to Griffondor Tower, as clear as day. It was Blaise Zambini, he remembered him from Slughorn's dreadful meetings. Sure, he was a Slytherin, but he always took the time to be civil to the Griffondors. Harry assumed it was a respect for his fellow 'Slug Club' sufferers. Harry knew he had to act. He rose and ran to the door, it opened, and he saw the massacre occurring before his eyes, yet...he couldn't cross the threshold.

He heard, he saw, Blaise screaming in pain. He tried to break the wards. He tried every spell he could think of. The wards would not fall. He was stuck there, watching, unable to assist in any way. Watching the hooded figure strike depths of pain in to the poor Slytherin's eyes. In those moments, something miraculous happened.

Harry had an idea.

"Hey! You! Leave him alone!" Harry shouted.

"Or what? I know your situation, Dumbledores got you locked in there, like a little--caged---rat. I would be glad to see you try and stop me from your prison, Mr Potter."

"Leave him, or I will kill myself." Harry smiled, and raised his wand to his throat to add to the effect.

"You are bluffing, I know Mr Potter. You cannot fool me"

"You might think that, and you might be right. But what if you're wrong? Hah! I'd like to see your Lord's reaction! I'd like to see what he'd do to your sorry arse. Leave here now. Leave Blaise, and I will remain safe, and I will live to face your master."

"Don't even try, Harry. I know you won't"

"Really? Well then. Avada Keda--"

"Fine. Harry, I will go. But remember. We have met before. We will meet again. Goodbye Harry." With that the masked 'stranger' fled down the corridor, and down the stairs.

"Blaise!" Harry yelled "Blaise! I want to help you! I just need you to cross the threshold. Blaise! look at me!" Harry saw his weary head rise. "That's right! Please Blaise, please. I nead you to...to...please." Harry slumped down, sobbing. He sat crouched there, he didn't know how long he was sitting there.

"Harry..." Harry's head shot up. Blaise was reaching out to him. Literally reaching out to him. His wrist was just passed over the threshold, and Harry grabbed it. He pulled Blaise into the room, with all the strength he could muster.

"Blaise, I've got you Blaise." Harry begun mumuring the healing spells Madame Pomfery had taught them earlier in the year.

He knew it still wouldn't be enough to restore him completely.

There's only so many Crucios a man can take.  
--- ---

"Harry? Harry?" Harry came out of his thoughtful stupor.

"Oh...ah, yes?"

"Oh, sorry if Dobby disturbed sir, sir. Dobby brings you a letter, from Ms Weasley."

"That's alright Dobby. Prey, which Ms Weasley?"

"Ms Ginerva Weasley, Harry Potter, sir"

"Oh, bollucks."


End file.
